


Shades of Blue Interludes ~ Nine to Ten

by bluedawn



Series: Shades of Blue [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Regeneration, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedawn/pseuds/bluedawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, she had returned and, against all odds, they're both going to live on.  Albeit slightly different than they had been before.  But for once, that doesn't frighten him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Blue Interludes ~ Nine to Ten

**Author's Note:**

> *My take on the Nine to Ten regeneration, incorporating bits of Journey's End (which I, sadly, do not own), pieces of Cerulean and Navy and references to a few scenes you haven't seen yet.   
> * I've had this written almost since the first chapter of Cerulean and thought I'd post it now since I'm taking so long getting up Nine's final chapter. I just can't seem to let him go. =)  
> * Nine calling himself Time's sacrificial lamb came from a review by the brilliant UntemperedSchism. You should get over there and read some of those stories. Don't worry. I'll be here when you get back.

He’s never been more frightened than when Rose steps out of the TARDIS, golden light pouring from her body, power radiating from her. What has she done? And why?  
  
He doesn’t need to ask himself that, not really. He knows why...has known for sometime, feels like he’s known for decades. He’s seen it in her eyes, in her body language, in her teasing flirts. But he pretended to be oblivious, asexual. He played the tactile best mate. All right. The highly tactile best mate who confined any further fantasies of her, of them, to his bedroom and imagination.  
  
That had worked. Always the coward, him.  
  
Until the Captain came along. Then everything changed. A rival for her attentions, a poised, sensual interloper chasing after her, causing her to become aroused...so wrong when she was so obviously  _his_. Except...not obvious to her, apparently. And suddenly he realized: he wanted it. He wanted it to change, wanted them to change.   
  
He wanted her and not just in his dreams and his darkened room where vivid, detailed images and scenarios of her, of them, some far more improper than he’d ever admit and, even more bizarrely, some of him with his last face, ran rampant through his mind, making him lose control in ways he wasn’t supposed to lose it.   
  
He’s always wanted her, almost since “run” and definitely since Cardiff...something about that dress and her smile...he’d just never had the guts to make the move, to cross that final threshold. He has always felt attracted to her...far more than he should feel, far more than any Time Lord should feel. He feels connected to her on a deep, visceral level he’s never been able to understand...as if he’s known her for far longer than the miraculous year it’s been.   
  
And it’s not like he’s a real prize in this body, he thinks. He’s never really believed that she could want him, broken and battered as he is, not like he wanted her. She’s human and humans are complicated, fickle creatures. He starts to depend on them and then they leave, breaking his hearts as they go. They always leave. Unless he leaves first.   
  
He’s already watched her die once to a Dalek, thought he did, and it nearly killed him then.  
  
And now...  
  
He had been prepared to lose her, to know that she was safe, living the life she deserved even if it wasn’t the one he wanted her to have, the one with her by his side forever as she has promised him and as he has promised her...wait...has he ever promised her that? Has she?   
  
It doesn’t matter.  
  
But he can’t lose her now, not like this.  
  
Not because of him.  
  
He destroys everything. And he’s destroyed her.  
  
 _I want you safe.  
  
My Doctor._  
  
Her claim blazes through his mind, imprinting itself, making it true, their bond - a baffling link he didn’t even know existed - now fully formed for him, coming full circle.   
  
What, on Gallifrey, is going on? How can she claim him? And how can they be bonded? He’s never claimed her...has he? Anyway, she shouldn’t be able to do that. It’s impossible. She’s impossible.  
  
But it’s true. It feels so right.  
  
He is hers. And she is his.   
  
And it is killing her.  
  
It isn’t fair. She can’t claim him and then leave him. She’ll die and he’ll be alone. More alone than he’s ever been, alone on one side of a link he didn’t even know they had. No wonder he’s always desired her.   
  
He’s gained her, completely, utterly, wholly, only to lose her a moment later.  
  
She destroys the Daleks with a wave of her hand. The Time War ends in the face of one tiny human. His tiny human. Impossible again.  
  
 _I can see everything. All that is, all that was, all that ever could be._  
  
His head feels as though it has just exploded and he reels as his memories flood back, jumping to his feet. Memories of waltzing, of running, of making love. This body has always referred to her as “his”, from the moment he met her and he has always carefully ignored what it might mean. But now he knows why. It meant far more than he ever imagined. She  _is_  his.  
  
He feels the familiar comforting weight of his jacket and understands why he wears it like a suit of armor, why its comforting warmth seems to come from more than just the leather. He lowers his head to stare into her eerily golden eyes and sees the love that shines behind them. Their Timelines blaze and shine, long and complicated, lighting up the darkness, showing him their path and, he hopes, their forever.   
  
In that instant he is every man he has ever been and every man he ever will be and he loves her, loved her, will love her.  
  
She sees simultaneously her past and her future and she loves him, loved him, will love him.   
  
She sees and he  _remembers_.  
  
 _But that’s what I see! All the time. And doesn’t it drive you mad?_  
  
Rose. It has always been Rose. Protecting him, loving him, giving so much of herself to him. She has always been an alluring enigma, a charming puzzle, something larger, something completely beyond anything he could imagine. Perhaps he’s known it all along.   
  
He will lose her eventually to a parallel world and the knowledge hurts, it hurts so much to see the pain he will endure. But he will get her back, will bring her back to himself. And she will save him again along the way, in more ways than one.  
  
And he’ll get punched twice for being the sorry git who lets her go in the first place.  
  
He deserves it, deserved it, will deserve it.  
  
 _My head...  
Come here.  
...is killing me_  
  
Really, this is the least he can do.  
  
 _I think you need a Doctor._  
  
He always has been a sucker for a good line.  
  
Sweetly, he lowers his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, a kiss that reminds him of their first tentative embrace in her flat years ago for him and years ahead for her. In that kiss there is fire and desperation, love and loss, past and future. He draws the Vortex from her, releasing it back to the TARDIS and gently lowers his precious girl to the floor, stroking her face and letting his hand glide down her torso.   
  
He once said, once will say, that this first kiss meant everything.  
  
He was right.  
  
He allows a brief smile for his TARDIS as she accepts the Vortex back, knowing the Doctor will protect their golden friend, her little wolf. He doesn’t doubt she’s known about this all along. He bends to Rose again, brushing her hair from her face.   
  
His Rose. Her Doctor. The Bad Wolf and The Oncoming Storm. Their story continues. The stuff of legends.  
  
He brings her into the TARDIS and lays her carefully on the grating, moving to set the controls. Rose shakes her head slowly and sits up, questioning him, clearly confused. The bond pulls at him unnaturally; her side is no longer complete, won’t be until after his Tenth self loses her and his Eighth self can’t let her go. They fall into their usual playful banter and he covers his disappointment that she has forgotten so quickly.   
  
Rassilon....he loves her so much and wants her so bad.  
  
But maybe he doesn’t need to forget quite yet, doesn’t need to force the memories away so soon. He can take her someplace special! Somewhere like Coricana...oh! Barcelona! This could finally be the time to go! Food and dancing. And dogs with no noses, an added bonus! She’ll love those!   
  
He smiles to himself. He’s danced with her and  _danced_  with her. They could do it again!  
  
After all, he has a promise to keep.  
  
A tremor shoots through his body and he examines his hand. Oh. His regeneration is already starting. It isn’t fair. It would seem Time has chosen this him as its sacrificial lamb. Maybe then the next him will be given more Time to spend loving Rose.  
  
She doesn’t remember and soon neither will he, at least not for a while. How ironic after all these years, now that he is finally ready, it is her who doesn’t know, isn’t ready, he is dying and they will have to take the slow path. He hates the slow path. Lord of Time, indeed.  
  
At least they’re together. The slow path with Rose Tyler. That’s not so bad, is it? He can only hope that one day in this relationship they will both be in the same place at the same time. They will. Someday.   
  
He sighs. All of time and space and he had to find a mate as complicated as himself.   
  
 _Rose Tyler. I was gonna take you to so many places. Barcelona. Not the city Barcelona, the planet Barcelona. You'll love it, fantastic place, they've got dogs with no noses!_  
  
She is getting to her feet and slowly growing into that smile he loves so much, simply adding today to the long list of strange adventures they have had, the Doctor and Rose Tyler, oblivious to the truth, the truth that she almost died (perhaps did die) for him and that now he is dying.   
  
For her.  
  
Worth it. Jack was right.  
  
His mouth continues talking, seeming of its own volition, trying to make her smile again. He’d do anything to make her smile like that. Can a person be addicted to a smile? That seems a bit odd, but smiling is good. He is definitely a fan of smiling. Nice stretch for the zygomaticus muscles. Zygomaticus. Fun word to say. So many consonants! Very science-y. Ooo...science-y. Is that a word?  
  
Oh. The regeneration process is beginning to scramble his thoughts a bit. He’s starting to ramble. If he’s not careful, that could end up a permanent part of his new life.  
  
 _But it's a bit dodgy, this process. You never know what you're gonna end up with._  
  
But wait! He remembers! He knows! He knows what he is supposed to look like! His mind grabs the memory of a faded photograph, a foxy body, a great head of hair and a paper crown. He snorts to himself, seeing that same body sprawled on the ground at this body’s boots, unconscious by his own hand. He’ll become a pretty boy. For her. She’s always liked those. A body built for Rose. Nicer, lighter, younger. No more hurtful references to being her father. What else? OH! Likes Disney. Hah! She’ll like that. The TARDIS will help.   
  
Another spasm takes hold of his body and he desperately tries to hang on, tries to explain away her terrified expression and finally settles for telling her how much she means to him, how much he cares for her, how much he loves her...in the only way this body can:  
  
 _Rose, before I go I just wanna tell you - you were fantastic... absolutely fantastic..._  
  
He hopes she understands. She knows. Surely she knows.  
  
 _And d'you know what? So was I._  
  
How are those for last words? Fantastic, he thinks one last time.  
  
He gives her one last grin with this body, this body that she mended, mind and soul in the broken shell of the TARDIS, oh, such a long time ago. Two regenerations with Rose to help him through the aftermath. Hopefully that is a pattern he can keep. Surely the universe owes him that. The slow burn of energy is increasing, building to a crescendo he can’t control much longer. He burns with thoughts of her in the forefront of his mind even as the memories slip away again. His last body was born of fire and war. This one will be born of love and light.   
  
For her.  
  
Rose Tyler.   
  
 _His_  Rose Tyler.

**Author's Note:**

> * Bravo to those of you who called Rose's claiming happening during Bad Wolf.


End file.
